Damaged
by Bru21
Summary: "Damaged can be fixed. Damages can be repaired. Broken is…unfixable," Maybe he's inspired by his Captain-former Captain. "You really can't wait?" He's all they have; the last hope. "There's nothing like it." He's afraid to die alone.


I'm really nervous! This is my first venture in the Trek fandom fiction, so I'm really sorry for the inconsistencies and falsities of this fic! Chekov is my favorite character and I couldn't get this idea out of my head!

**Disclaimers: **(There's quite a few!)

I own nothing!

I've only seen the reboot movies, so my knowledge of Star Trek is lacking! I hope to one day watch TOS at least, but that day hasn't come yet so forgive me!

This story takes place immediately afer ST:ID so~ Spoiler warnings!

Reading this fic requires a LOT of suspension of disbelief! I know near to nothing as far as the archietecture of the Enterprise goes, or of proper protocal and the technology of the time so~ There's a lot about this fic that makes you'll probably find yourself saying, "Why didn't they just-" or "THat's impossible" but I ask that you overlook as much of that as you can; if you find the fic too incorrect to even stand, then I'm really, really sorry! For instance, I have no idea what the beam-room is called, so I went with referring it to the 'hollodeck' for some reason. If factual details like that bother you, then this may not be the fic for you, sorry!

There's a few scattered scenes that are flashbacks-theres no indication on which ones are or not, b/c I felt they'd be obvious, but if they're not, I'm sorry! Another structural element of the story I should warn is that some com-talk is represented in italics-this should be obvious, but justincase it's confusing!?

I've come across that there's a LOT of debate on writing out Chekov and Scotty's accent. I apologize ahead of time if my portrayal of their dialogue is offensive or incorrect; it helped me to write in the accent I believed them to have, but I know there's plenty of inconsistencies, especially with Chekov, and as this is my first time writing for these characters, I haven't quite found my footing in how to properly represent them. Again, I'm sincerely sorry if anyone takes offense, or if the accents are too unbearable for you to read!

I can't remember really any language in this fic, but just in case~!

It's pretty long, sorry! (The A/N at the end is also very long, sorry!)

I hope you enjoy this fic!

* * *

"She's damaged, but not broken."

The youth furrowed his brows, confused.

"Zer eez a difference?"

The Scotsman scratched his head, tool still in hand as he examined the scene before him.

It's been two days since they properly docked the USS Enterprise, and while she'd pulled it together to function when they'd needed her to, the repairs she required for a proper reinstatement were far too many. She'd be off duty for at least a few months, and repairs couldn't even begin until everything was checked and cleared of what exactly needed the adjustments and work.

Which was what Scotty was performing now, and had enlisted Chekov's help. He had already grilled the navigator for an in-depth report on every occurrence -and appropriate measure that was taken in response- that the engineering deck had gone through during its time under Chekov's command.

"_Damaged_ can be fixed. Damages can be repaired. Broken is…_unfixable_," Scotty finished, nodding to himself in satisfaction at his conclusion.

"So…I deed not break her?"

Scotty laughed, "It'd take more 'an one misguided crew member to bring down 'is ship. A _super_ soldier tried and 'e coul'n't do the trick, eh?" Scotty winked before hopping down from the steps and clapping Chekov hard on the shoulder.

The only reason the ship _hadn't _gone down was because the sacrifice of its own captain. Chekov sat on edge, awaiting McCoy's update on the revival process. They all did.

Chekov nodded slowly, trying to smile but still feeling rather awful. He knew he'd done the best he could, and Scotty assured him there wasn't anyone else he'd rather have left "her" in the hands of (Save, maybe, a trained Engineer). Still, Chekov felt responsible for the state she was in.

"An' why's that?" Scotty had questioned him, when he'd mentioned as much. "Did _you_ fire at her? I coul've _sworn_ it'd been the o'her guy. That…_Khan_, fellow, ye know?"

And he'd, again, winked it off and clapped Chekov's shoulder.

And that was that.

"Quit being so selfish, lad. If you want to take responsibility of damaging my-er, _Captain's_ ship," he corrected, "Yer goin' to hafta try harder to damage her yerself, _and_ you'll hafta do it yerself, at that! And while yer at it, make sure the Captain or I isn't on board; Tha's the only way I can imagine ye ever takin' her down!"

Scotty cackled at his own jest and walked on, leaving Chekov to miserably trek back towards the bridge, to meet with the rest of the crew to finish reporting in evaluations.

* * *

The crew of the USS Enterprise had been granted temporary leave, until further notice. The ship would take down time to repair. The main crew itself couldn't be spared for reassignment. Reinstated Captain Kirk wouldn't have allowed Starfleet federation to separate his crew, or dispatch them elsewhere. He had a claim on his crew and wasn't open to share.

At least, first officer Spock expressed as much.

In the captain's absence and recovery, Spock spoke for the crew. Not that any of them disagreed with what he had to say.

In any case, this left the crew grounded.

Chekov heard rumors that the ship would take months at that to be repaired enough to pass the standards and be reinstated for missions. She currently resided in a shuttle yard, not far from Starfleet Base, and would then, after many grounded repairs and clearance, be transported to the docking station in space for further repairs and reconstruction.

Several members had taken it upon themselves to take on temporary assignments; many had returned to the academy as an "Instructing assistant", such as Uhura.

She mostly assisted in xenolinguistics classes, though she did confide in Chekov that she also had taken it upon herself to try to further master a few of the species' dialects that she wasn't particularly pleased with her aptitude in. Particularly Klingon.

Commander Spock and Dr. McCoy had both returned as lecturers. McCoy frequently grumbled about the task, claiming he meant to oversee merely the education of the science recruits who had aspirations of entering the medical field, while he also had a heavy hand in the grounded medical bay, particularly overlooking his specific patient of a comatose man by the name of James T Kirk.

Chekov later would learn that that year received the highest dropout rates of any year prior within the biological department.

Montgomery Scott would personally overlook much of the repairs on the Enterprise, along with most of the original engineering crew. Chekov was privileged with the opportunity to be a part of such, having been an honorary red shirt, and frequently received invitations by Scotty himself to come out for a few hours or so and help with the repairs.

Chekov declined, politely of course.

Sulu had returned to the academy, briefly for advanced classes. Nothing too specific; most of the classes he was taking were random, though he stated he meant to broaden his skillset.

Captain Kirk, when he did finally wake up two weeks after his death (how odd he could say that, Chekov thought) and had been cleared by his attending physician, was having a heavy hand in the reestablishment of Starfleet itself, helping it to transition after having abruptly lost its corrupt Admiral Marcus.

Mostly he conducted background checks on any Starfleet sanctioned weapons dealing or manufacturing and frequently reported to the courts with his findings, which First Officer Spock also assisted in.

Chekov had gone to the late Admiral's funeral. It was there that he met Carol Marcus, the late Admiral's daughter. She'd smiled at him, and even went as far as to compliment Chekov on the exceptional job he'd done in running the ship in Scotty's absence. Chekov hadn't had much to say in reply, except thank you, but he couldn't help but think why wasn't she crying? Why wasn't she more _broken_, attending her father's funeral, which by his understanding she'd even witnessed the horrible death of-

Damaged, not broken, he reminded himself.

She, too, currently had had a large hand in handling the new chain of command. Chekov frequently heard of her involvement in bringing into light the scandals and corruption of her father's command, and played a large role in flushing it out.

And then there was Chekov. He hadn't returned to the Academy, as a student or lecturer. He had no part in cleaning up the mess of "John Harrison's" attack. He merely was a Chief Navigator, who was, until further notice, out of a job.

* * *

News had reached Chekov that the _USS Reliant_ Chief Navigator had recently resigned, citing personal reasons. The ship would be docking in a week, and would be accepting resignations for the position.

_USS Reliant_ was expected to ship out after a quick resupply, and after the position of Chief Navigator was swiftly filled.

Chekov had heard this through an old professor of his, whom he had passed one day at the Academy on his way to meeting Sulu for an impromptu lunch. Chekov hadn't thought much of it, until midway through the lunch itself, as Sulu was reciting what he'd previously learned in the lecture he'd just attended.

Chekov was so distracted, by the end of it he couldn't tell what subject it was Sulu had attended.

* * *

Two days before the _Reliant_ docked, he'd gone out to lunch with Uhura, who unlike Sulu made note of Chekov's aloofness.

"What's bothering you?" She'd asked, in that motherly, concerned voice of hers.

Chekov shook it off, but finally confessed his concerns. Reports were returning; the _Enterprise_ would be down and out for nearly a year; likely even longer. The remanufacturing of parts, along with the paperwork on its crew and assignment…

Chekov confessed his boredom at having nothing currently on Earth to do.

"Eez stupid, I know-" he laughed off, trying to remind himself he couldn't afford to be a child anymore.

Uhura ignored as much.

"The Reliant, huh?" She leaned back in her seat, a booth at a small campus café. She was quiet for a moment before asking, "What's its assignment?"

Chekov shook his head. He knew little of it, other than what briefly had been mentioned by his former professor, "A two year assignment," he finished, shaking his head slightly.

Uhura smiled, but didn't look up.

"You really can't wait?" She added, softly.

It pained Chekov to admit he couldn't. Six months, sure, maybe even eight. But twelve? Or more?

He wanted to tell her yes, he could wait.

But he couldn't afford to. Not while watching everyone else drift apart for a year, concerned with their own tasks. That he'd managed to keep in contact with them this well these past few weeks meant a lot to him, but wouldn't last. Scotty's calls were becoming fewer and far between. Sulu would reach midterms soon.

"Von't be so bad…" Chekov mused, light-heartedly. Was he talking to her, or himself?

Uhura again smiled but they both were forcing as much as finally she sunk her shoulders and added, "You'll need to properly turn in your resignation to the Captain."

Chekov hadn't thought of that.

"Gain his blessing," Uhura added, quietly. She meant to simply recite regulation to Chekov, but they both knew she secretly was hoping Kirk would reject Chekov's proposal. She knew it was selfish, to want Chekov to stay, but if the Reliant accepted him (Which they would; he was the most qualified candidate for the position in the past twenty years) he'd be away on assignment for at least two years before the possibility of returning to the Enterprise. And that was assuming the Enterprise wasn't away on its own assignment by that time, either.

"I'll zee to 'eem about eet imedi'tely," Chekov announced, just as quietly.

He wasn't sure when the possibility had suddenly become his only option, or when he'd accepted that this was his decision. He wondered if it was too late to back out; he hadn't done anything, as of yet. He could just go home, sleep in the next few days and miss resigning from his position aboard the Enterprise.

Somehow, though, he doubted that would be the case.

* * *

Chekov had visited the Captain twice since he'd reawakened. He'd accompanied Uhura once, who had called him out on emergency mere hours after he'd first woken. There, they'd met nearly the entirety of the bridge crew, eager to get a glimpse and have a word with their captain whom until that moment they'd all been holding their breath on whether he'd return to living or not.

When Chekov had managed to squeeze his way into the recovery room, clinging to Uhura as she pushed their way to him, he'd merely stood behind her as she began to berate the captain for 'scaring her like that'.

Bones nodded in a corner to every insult and threat that Uhura prescribed, even to the chagrin of the captain who looked pleading at his doctor to save him from the abuse.

Even Spock, sitting nearby, looked smug.

Chekov hadn't said a word.

The second time he'd visited, he'd done so on his own. had greeted him, but informed him that the captain was currently sleeping. He'd even offered to wake the captain, though, making a claim that "He sleeps too damn much anyhow".

Chekov declined and quickly turned the way he'd came, but not before catching wind of McCoy walking back and a faint, groggy voice asking, "Who was there just now?"

Chekov sprinted out of the bay, not giving McCoy the chance to call after him that, what do you know, the captain was awake and could receive him now.

* * *

That afternoon, Chekov had gone to find his Captain- for only a few hours more, most likely- at the Starfleet Admiral building.

A secretary on the first floor had directed him towards the archives, where a James T Kirk was officially signed in to be researching at. Chekov thanked the elderly woman and reported there at once, walking down the excessively tall halls which were uncharacteristically barren, even at this time of day so late in the afternoon.

Just as Chekov rounded the corner towards the archives, he heard voices and slowed his steps.

"…place, and the authorization that you have does not extend-"

"-But see, it does. Because I'm doing my job, for the federation, as Captain-"

"-A man is only Captain so long as he has a ship-"

"-Which I do. Captain of the Enterprise, _sir,"_ Chekov heard the lowered, sharp voices of who he recognized to be Captain Kirk as well a voice he did not know.

As if to confirm it, a moment later a man stepped from the Archives. He was older than, as everyone was, Chekov but only exceeded Kirk by a few years; a decade at most. His hair was already silver, though this didn't indicate his age any more than his bright eyes, youthful and filled with unmistakable hatred.

The man brushed past Chekov so heatedly, he nearly knocked the lad over, with no consideration.

Chekov stumbled to step aside, bowing at the cuffs that identified the man to be a Captain, though he didn't bother to acknowledge or relieve the Ensign as he passed.

The moment the man was gone, Chekov jumped at the appearance of his own Captain, peering just out of the Archives' doors.

"Spiteful bastard…Chekov! Good to see you!"

Chekov nodded, "A-aye, sir…"

* * *

"With everything surrounding the…Khan incident, tensions aren't exactly favorable. Especially towards me, believe it or not," Kirk grimaced. Chekov watched Kirk limp towards a desk nearby, reminding himself Kirk was still recovering from, well, dying.

"The pleasant fellow you saw in the hall? Captain Daniels. Served as a First Commander to Admiral Marcus, not too long ago…I wouldn't exactly call him an _ally_, in the light of things," Kirk admitted, half speaking to himself and half admitting to Chekov. Chekov could only imagine what Kirk _would_ call the fellow Captain.

"What brings you up to Archives, Chekov?" Kirk asked, setting aside books (They looked ancient!) to clear a desk for Chekov and himself to sit at. He produced an apple, which Chekov was almost positive wasn't cleared for this level (Food was prohibited around such delicate artifacts as books). Kirk awaited Chekov's response.

"A-ah, actually, you…sir," Chekov added nervously. If he'd been hesitant about confessing his decision to Uhura, it would be only worse to tell the Captain.

"I'm flattered," Kirk replied, dead-panned.

Chekov took a sharp breadth before delving into his predicament. He left out any personal feelings or reasoning's. In fact, all he mentioned was the fact that the _Reliant_ was seeking a Chief Navigator, and that he had come offer his resignation from the _Enterprise_ to apply for the position aboard the Reliant. He made no mention of how difficult a decision this was, and how painful leaving the crew would be. He also tried to force down his hesitations on the matter; this was it. It was happening. He only needed Kirk to agree…

It hit Chekov at that moment that he really didn't want Kirk to. If Kirk were to declare, here and now, that, _No_, the _USS Reliant_ could not have him, then he wouldn't say anything else on the matter. He'd stay, bound to Earth, for an entire year, and he'd wait patiently until the reinstatement of the-

"Alright."

Chekov jumped slightly.

"S-sir?"

Kirk smiled at the boy, hiding his own disappointment. "You came here to gain my permission? To be relieved of your position? I grant it."

It was all too easy.

Chekov slowly caught himself, nodding in gratitude. He forced himself to smile, reminding himself that Captain—no longer his captain—was doing him a favor. Was fulfilling the request he'd, in person, asked.

"Zank you, sir…"

There was an awkward moment, where neither spoke nor moved.

Finally, Chekov nodded and took his leave of the Archives, without another word.

Kirk continued to sit there, momentarily, pondering over what he'd just heard, and witnessed, and agreed to.

* * *

"Ah, I'm sorry te hear tha', laddie," Scotty admitted, sounding rather confused. Through the communicator, sparks could be heard in the background. Scotty sounded tired, which was what Chekov accredited his dishevelment to. He'd mentioned he'd been working several days straight now, with no sleep.

"You'll hafta stop by 'er, ye' know."

"Her?"

"'E ship, laddie! Say yer proper goodbyes!" Scotty sounded rather insulted.

"Ah, vell…" Chekov stuttered. It wasn't like he hadn't cleared out all his belongings aboard the ship, from the bridge and his quarters. They'd been instructed to do so during the first week of repairs.

"…manually, won'tcha?"

Chekov had spaced, ignoring Scotty's words.

"S-sorry?!"

"Ah said, laddie, you'll hafta manually take yerself out the system. Everything's down, as far as connections to central go. Everythin's gettin' upgraded, while they hav' 'er 'ere, Wha' time are ye' free day aft'a tomorrow te stop by the shuttle yard?"

Chekov, startled, shook his head, despite the fact Scotty couldn't see as much.

"I-I can't do ze day after tomorrow."

That was the day the USS Reliant docked. He'd personally be meeting with Captain Clark Terrel to interview for the position.

"Ah, you could come by tomorrow, maybe. Not many will be up here," Chekov could almost hear Scotty physically scratching his head, "it's an appointed inspection…strange, te have it so premature in the repair stages…"

Chekov thought a moment, "Vhat time..?"

"You'll have to be here pretty early. Sweep starts at ten hundred hours…"

Chekov had no problem with waking early. Repairs on the Enterprise were taking place a little over two hours from the city. Until the Engineering deck and outer re-plating was completed, the Enterprise would remain surface bound for repairs. It would only return to space once it passed enough tests and retained the OK, go.

"I vill be there."

There was a long pause, before finally, "Well, lad, I won't be. An' I can say I'll be sorry te miss ya…"

Scotty sighed before hurriedly adding, "We'll hafta meet, befor' ya take leave with 'eh Reliant. Perhaps a lunch, eh?"

Chekov didn't have the heart to admit the Reliant would leave three days after it docked. It required minimal repairs, and its assignment appeared urgent. The docking really was simply to swap Navigators and restock supplies, which wouldn't take but three days. It was a quick transition, but there'd been quicker.

"Da," Chekov lied.

Scotty may have sensed as much, but said nothing about it.

"Still hav' tha' engineering shirt? Go ahead 'n wear it, tomorr'w. It'll Help ye get on board withou' too many questions," Scotty advised.

"Da," Chekov repeated.

Something urgent called Scotty's attention back to work, and the line suddenly went dead.

That was that.

* * *

"You let him go!"

It wasn't a question.

Kirk tried to side step Uhura, but she would have none of that. Without shifting, she managed to still remain in his way, knowing perfectly well he still had a limp and therefore couldn't easily pass her.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Kirk tried, demanding in a calm but commanding voice.

"You didn't even hesitate-you just let him go."

Kirk sighed. That approach wouldn't work. He turned around, forcing a retreat.

"He's as much deserving of his position as any one of us. You can't expect me to baby him! He'll make decisions, some of which you won't be happy about-"

"He didn't want to leave!"

"Then why'd he ask me to grant him permission to?"

"He-he's scared, lonely even! He's confused; he made this decision out of haste and he was waiting for you to tell him no, to…"

"To what?"

"To tell him what to do."

"He knew what he wanted to do. He wants to join the USS Reliant; become their chief Navigator."

"He wants to know you'd fight for him-"

"No, he wants a job. I can't blame him. I feel cooped up, going from trial to trial and meeting after meeting. We're all a bit jet-lagged from adventure and space, but we all have to adjust. And this is how he adjusts."

"You're running away-"

"Wait, wait, _I'm_ the one running away? I'm sorry, but I'm still here. The kid is the one running back to space."

Uhura crossed her arms.

"Because you let him."

"Was I not supposed to?"

"No!"

It was at that moment, another familiar face joined their argument.

"Captain. Lieutenant Uhura…"

"Spock! Finally, someone filled with reason. Please tell Miss Lieutenant Uhura here that it is _illogical_ to expect of me that I should have denied Ensign Chekov's request to resign as Chief Navigator aboard the Enterprise in favor of joining with the crew of the Reliant."

Spock looked between both Kirk and Uhura, finally settling on Kirk, "It is within protocol that a crew member seeking relief from duties seek out his or her Captain's approval on such a matter-"

"See? Mr. Logic over here agrees-"

"-However, in the case of Ensign Chekov, I do not think that move was wise."

"Aha!"

"What? Spock? Not _wise_? You're in cahoots with Uhura! How was I supposed to interpret the boy asking me to resign as that I'm _not_ supposed to let him resign?"

"Did you not hear him out on why? Kirk, he's just confused. Everyone is shaken up from all that happened. You know better than anyone-"

"Why? Because I died?"

"-And we're all coping with it, but he hasn't found a way to yet. He can't move on, he's still guilty from…"

Uhura motioned towards Spock, but stopped, hesitating. Kirk shot her a questioning glance, but she continued quickly before anyone could call her out on her meaning.

"He needs a reminder that…"

"That what? That he's good at his job? You're babying him, I swear to God! If you're so concerned he isn't capable of making decisions right now, file a psyc-eval on him and have McCoy test him as such. If he fails, you'll have condemned him to confinement even more so than what you assure he's already suffering from, and he'll have you to thank for it."

Kirk made to leave, but stopped, turning quickly around to add, "And how did you even find out, anyway? I spoke to the kid maybe an hour ago; there's no way you both coincidentally are here, either."

"Scotty called and told me," Uhura replied, straightening her back defensively. "Chekov's stopping by the ship tomorrow, to clear himself from the registry."

"Can't he do that from here?"

"Everything's been disconnected for repairs. Any changes need to be done manually, from the source," Uhura added, bitterly.

Spock revealed his hands from behind his back, handing an envelope to Kirk.

"I merely came to deliver these files, of which you requested."

"Well…Yes, thank you, Spock. Uhura," Kirk acknowledged, still frustrated that she'd immediately sought him out just to chew him out for doing the only thing he could've done. First Daniels; now her. Everyone was breathing done his neck today, it seemed.

Uhura sighed, scowling at Kirk. Spock said nothing, but remained unconvinced. Kirk, however, was done arguing.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go shift through some paperwork," he muttered. "Looks like I need to find a new Chief Navigator. If you have anyone in mind, refer them to me, if you'd like."

* * *

Chekov didn't sleep well that night. By the morning, he felt exhausted and had collectively an hour or two of sleep.

After a quick morning jog and a shower, he'd jumped at the sight of the red Ensign shirt that he'd laid across his mattress the night before. He hesitated before throwing it over his shoulders, followed by a jacket.

He'd been the only passenger on a civilian bus that left him at a stop still a ways from the shuttle yard which the Enterprise was currently being held at.

By the time he had reached the entrance, a small check-in outpost, it was already nearly the scheduled time of the sweep Scotty had warned about.

Chekov didn't think he'd need much time; just login into the system one last time and clear his authorization. A precautionary move; the system could handle a set number of authorized personnel, in case of succession in times of emergency, but Chekov needed to clear himself as the primary. Darwin would take his post, most likely.

Chekov was scanned in by a rather dull, middle-aged man, who only spent a moment to eye Chekov's ensign shirt before blandly waving him on. When Chekov had approached the guard, he'd been toying with some model of a ship build long since retired. Chekov saluted to him, but the man had already returned his attention to the toy.

As Chekov exited from the post, he saw a shuttle pull up beside the gated yard, quickly unloaded by several men in grey uniforms with caps pulled low over their eyes.

They worked quickly to unload the shuttle; boxes of what Chekov could only guess to be some equipment for running tests and drills on the ship.

One man looked up and caught Chekov's eye. He had dark hair tucked behind his ears and seemed to stare down Chekov.

He needed to be quick, Chekov thought. If the sweep-crew was already here, he'd have to hurry to the bridge, clear himself from it, and get out.

Chekov sulked from the post towards the looming ship, his steps quicker than he'd have liked to take on such a melancholic trip.

* * *

Kirk had fallen asleep with his face plastered to the PADD. Documents were sprawled about him, and a few books were left discarded under Kirk's desk.

He woke up to the buzz of a handheld looming over his ear.

"Bones! What're you-?"

"You're cleared for mild activity, but not from skipping appointed checkups with your attending doctor; that's me, Jim."

"Glad to see you care so much about my well-being."

"Recovery. Slight difference," Bones corrected.

Kirk rubbed at his eyes, turning his attention to the scramble of scripts at his disposal.

"I heard about the kid," Bones added.

Kirk groaned, "Let me guess; Uhura?"

"Chapel." He shrugged, "Who heard through Uhura."

Kirk was quickly coming to realize he needn't bother replacing someone to work the com; Uhura managed to make news travel faster than any intercom system could.

Spock, with his impeccable timing, chose this moment to appear, quickly acknowledging Bones' presence before approaching Kirk, "I've come across an error-"

"Well, we know it's not your fault," Kirk joked. Like the Vulcan was capable of such.

"Sir, I do not believe this is a laughable matter. In my combing of the reports on weaponry inventory, I have come to the conclusion that several items remain unaccounted for."

McCoy, suddenly fascinated, stepped towards the two. Kirk reached for the PADD in Spock's hand.

"Which items?"

"Confiscated Klingon weaponry, sir."

Kirk looked between the PADD and Spock, then Bones, before settling on Spock, "That is a mistake. Personally see to the armory hold-"

"Forgive me, sir, but I already have. I sought out physical confirmation and found their container and registry number to be missing."

"Stolen," McCoy corrected, grumbling from behind Spock.

Kirk frowned.

"That's no good."

* * *

Scotty had been right. Hardly anyone was onboard the ship.

Chekov stepped quickly and lightly, trying to reach the bridge.

He passed one woman on his way to the bridge; a bubbly engineer, no older than thirty, with bright red hair who saluted him as he passed. Her com buzzed alive as Chekov passed her, and she quickly answered to, what Chekov could gather, another personnel currently stationed at the engineering floor.

Just as Chekov reached the end of the hall, he heard her voice quip up from behind him,

"Excuse me-!"

Chekov turned around to see the woman quickly catching up to him.

"You're Chekov…from the bridge, are you not?"

Chekov didn't have to heart to correct her that 'as of this moment, actually, no'.

She didn't wait for him to confirm or deny it anyway.

"You were Chief Engineer, just…" She trailed off, but to this Chekov did nod.

"Ah, you see…I just got a message, well…something's come up, a-and we don't know particularly how to handle…We can't get ahold of the Chief Scott, I just thought that you having been…w-would you take a moment to check..?"

She stuttered a lot, and Chekov felt as embarrassed as she sounded. He had sworn off ever being in command on the engineering deck again, but felt in the absence of Scotty (Strange that she couldn't get ahold of him. He always has his communicator on him, or perhaps transmissions were down somehow? That, or Scotty was finally getting his much deserved sleep) the least he could do was try to help, in whatever way he could.

"O-of course, I'll try!"

* * *

"…Ye got all that?" Scotty asked him.

Chekov smiled, brimming as he replayed the process Scotty had just explained to him over in his mind.

"Opening the walwve eet the same time as closing the pressure will cause the wents to burst, but unless every walwve on the ship is opened, should not cause problem!"

Scotty cheered, "Smart lad! Do you know where every valve 'n vent is 'ere?"

Chekov frowned, pondering before admitting, "No, sir…"

"Well, then I'm a terrible teacher! Ye can't learn the ways of the engineering deck unless you _learn _the engineering deck! Come along, an' I'll show ye around! I'll quiz ye on this'll later, mind ye!"

Chekov nodded, bounding after Scotty. What'd started as a throw-away comment of curiosity told during a lunch break had quickly turned into a course on engineering; particularly, that of the ship.

Chekov frequently mentioned his gratitude towards Scotty for spending free hours showing him essentially the ropes of the interworking of the ship.

Scotty had joked back, "One day, ye might need to know!"

* * *

The door slid open to reveal the vast engineering deck. A maze of railings and pipes and riddled with steam and sparks. Much of the machinery was dark, having been disconnected, with a few pieces humming with activity.

The woman, who had introduced herself as Katie Kohl, led Chekov to the left upon entering. They'd immediately met two other engineers, one of which had been tampering under some tank on his back. He slid out from under the equipment, throwing back his goggles as he stood to salute Chekov.

Chekov recognized the first man, who had served under him during his brief acting-Chief of Engineering service, as a man called Richards. The second man Chekov had never seen before.

"Ensign Chekov," Richards saluted, nodding at the youth. "It's good to see you back, sir," Richards added, smiling.

Chekov weakly smiled in return, but dropped it almost immediately.

"I vasn't avare anee-one vould be aboard the ship…It vas my understanding it had been cleared for an inspection…"

Richards chuckled, "We got the message, too. The four of us, though, had some work that piled over from yesterday. Thought if we got here early enough today and finished it, we'd be out of the sweep crew's way before anyone noticed."

"Except we reached delay in our progress," the second, nameless man spoke, pointing towards a reactor they seemed to have gathered by.

"We can't quite seem to get this beauty online. You flip a switch on her, but she won't power on. Generators are runnin', and the cooling unit seems to be working fine-"

"Zer anyway I can heelp?"

"W-well, you've shadowed Commander Scott, I thought…I just hoped y-you might identify what exactly was the problem," Katie spoke up shyly, nervous to propose her plan. Richards sighed at the effort while the second man stood judgmentally beside him.

Chekov approached the latch of the machine; it was on, and buzzing as though it was running, but no output seemed to be produced.

Chekov instead turned his attention to the control screen beside it.

"Perhaps zer is some break in the current…" Chekov frowned, midway through typing out commands in the script work, "It says eet …ah, da, eet has been rerouted…" Chekov chuckled to himself, "your probleem ees that the output of the reactor is being directed to a broken circuit…Eet should be fine, as long as you adjust…" Chekov seemed to mutter away, half instructing and half keeping his attention on the screen. The other three waited anxiously for him to continue, but Chekov abruptly instead asked, "you mentioned there vere four-?"

It was at the moment, everything burst to life. Chekov's screen at hand went dark, overridden, and the whirring of every machine flooded Chekov's ears.

Before he could turn to ask what had happened, there was a shake throughout the deck, and finally Chekov was lurched from his position, falling sprawled on his hands and knees. A whistling filled his ears.

The ship was taking flight.

* * *

"Sulu!"

Hikaru whipped around at the familiar voice, smiling at the approaching Lieutenant.

"Lieutenant Uhura! Fancy running into you-"

"Have you spoken to Chekov?"

Sulu's smile dropped. Uhura seemed upset, stopping just before Sulu and crossing her arms about her chest.

She'd caught him between lectures. He had another in ten minutes, and had she started with any other phrase, he'd have asked her to hastily walk with him on his way to the hall.

In consequence, however, he came to a complete halt.

"What's happened?"

* * *

"Zat vas the ship."

Chekov bluntly declared, staring blankly at the ceiling as though looking for the source of why the ship suddenly was taking flight.

All around them, the hull continued to sing with activity.

"Maybe she's being lifted to the station?"

"She wasn't cleared for that yet, Katie," Richards answered.

"Someone else on the bridge, Ensign Chekov?"

"…No," Chekov answered. No one should be.

"No one else is on this ship," Katie offered, gripping at the railing to steady herself to a stand. Richards had jumped to her side, assisting her, while the third man pulled himself up. Chekov had jumped to his feet, back at the controls, trying to reach the bridge.

"It's just the five of us…" Katie pointed out, circling her finger at the four of them.

"Apparently not," the nameless man grumbled.

"Whoe'er eet ees, they charged the thrusters...all chambers are actiwve..."

"Morgan! There you are, ye lazy bastard," The nameless man suddenly chirped, pulling Chekov's attention to a fourth incoming engineer.

Morgan was a thin man with short greying hair who smirked at his fellow companions. Katie instinctively stepped towards the new man, beaming, while Richards side-stepped beside Chekov.

"Morgan, we sent you to toggle with the communications transmitter almost an hour ago!" the nameless man noted, irritated and relieved as Morgan approached them.

"Did you find the problem?" Katie beamed.

"Sure did."

Morgan's eyes darted from his fellow engineers to Chekov, who had stopped mid-type. His eyes flickered from Chekov's shirt to face to the screen he currently stood over.

"Who's this?"

"Ensign Chekov, from the bridge. Ah, I forget, you just transferred over here from Captain Daniels'-"

Chekov froze, recognition dawning on him.

"Daniels?"

Chekov felt the weight of Richards push him down, over the railing, just as he heard the echo of a phaser being shot.

Chekov hit the floor, blacking out the same time he heard a woman's short, pitched scream.

* * *

Chekov came to moments later, a sudden realization snapping his eyes open and urging him to move. Above him, he could hear the footsteps of Morgan inching towards the edge to a viewing of Chekov. Chekov rolled to the side, out of view and hidden from Morgan.

From above, he could hear Morgan hiss a quick curse, before his hastened footsteps faded as Morgan fled.

Morgan…

He'd turned on them. Chekov had heard four shots. He'd shot Katie, and Richards, and the third man Chekov didn't know the name of.

When all was quiet, Chekov threw himself from under his cover. Morgan would come down, he'd come looking for him. Chekov didn't look up, not through the grated walkway above him. Had he, he'd easily made out the three forms of the fallen engineers. There was a distinct tapping behind him, of which Chekov imagined to be droplets of blood, pooling down from above.

Chekov found a set of steps and raced up them.

He was unarmed and his only plan of action was get the hell out of the engineering deck. Running forward, climbing steps, was his fastest and most efficient way out, though he was cautious of corners and turns where Morgan could be lingering.

Chekov needed to alert someone. He needed to get to the bridge, and find out who was operating this ship. He needed to get ahold of security, someone, to bring down Morgan, and-

Chekov stopped when he heard voices. He crouched beneath a bar, peering from his position barely to catch sight of the speakers.

He saw two men dressed in grey, with caps pulled low over their eyes; the sweeper team.

He almost jumped up, to warn them, until he heard the familiar voice of a third person, who was hastily joining them.

"One got away."

One of the grey suits cursed, "Any others?"

"Taken care of. Just the one."

Chekov leaned dangerously from his position, trying to catch a better glimpse of the men. The two in grey blocked an exit.

"What's he look like?"

"Some kid. But he's from the bridge…he could be trouble."

Stepping into view, from Chekov's position, was Morgan. He tugged at his collar, glancing around as though he suspected Chekov to be there.

"I'll say," a grey suit jested.

In that moment, he pulled a phaser from his belt and shot Morgan square between the eyes.

"Should've done your job," the man spat, turning to his companion.

"Every level is accounted for, save this one. Flush the kid out; block the exits, he won't get far. Kid can't beam off the ship; he's trapped."

The second man nodded. Pulling forth his own phaser and stepping unceremoniously over Morgan's body.

The first man, the one who'd shot Morgan, exited the other direction.

Chekov avoided looking at Morgan. He instead looked down at his hands, which were shaking.

He'd just witnessed an execution.

He'd witnessed four, actually, in the span of a few minutes.

He'd just seen Morgan, shot between the eyes.

And Katie, and Richards…

It was a set up, he thought. This entire sweeping procedure; these men weren't running tests on the performance of the ship; they were terrorists.

They'd taken control of the ship.

Morgan must have operated the engineering deck. He'd gone off and started everything…The others had trusted him, and he'd...

And now someone had to be piloting the ship.

Chekov didn't know the intent of these men, but he doubted it ended simply with shooting up everyone who happened to be up here. No, if that was the case, they wouldn't have mandated a near evacuation for this heist. They wouldn't have started the ship.

Chekov looked behind him, listening for any sound of approaching footsteps. All was silent, except the faint buzz of lights and the generators that were running.

He needed to alert someone of this attack. They'd mentioned he wouldn't be able to "beam off the ship"; Chekov only assumed this meant they had some device disrupting that ability.

Whatever had been in those cases he'd seen them unloading.

He wished he'd counted how many men in grey he'd seen when he arrived. It might have given him a head count of what he was up against. Assuming they didn't call in more reinforcements the moment they boarded the ship.

Chekov needed to get ahold of the Captain.

If they were operating from anywhere, it'd be the bridge.

The bridge that Chekov currently couldn't get to, because he was trapped in the engineering wing.

Trapped with no weapon or means of escaping to even get near the device, which, again, he had no weapon to destroy it with on him.

Chekov whispered a quick Russian curse before dodging behind another chamber.

He needed to get off the engineering deck.

* * *

"Captain!"

Kirk rolled his eyes, turning around to greet the rapidly approaching figure of his pilot, Hikaru Sulu.

"Sulu; to what do I owe your visit-?"

He should have been warned, seeing as hot on Sulu's trail was Uhura herself, but it still caught Kirk off guard when he felt Sulu's fist collide against his jaw.

"Sulu!" Uhura warned.

Oh, like she didn't see that one coming. She probably instigated it, Kirk thought bitterly.

"Sulu, need I remind you that protocol dictates-"

"Protocol be damned, sir," Sulu spat back.

Kirk sighed. He wasn't one to hold anyone to the regulations and creeds of Starfleet anyway.

"I'm assuming the root of justification of that assault stems from the fact I agreed to the request personally submitted by Ensign Chekov?"

This kid was more trouble than…well, no, he was worth it. But Kirk was getting rather tired of being confronted by every immediate member of his crew.

All that was left was for Scotty to threaten to quit again.

"How about this? We adopt a Tribble and teach _it_ Russian," Kirk smirked, but by the look on Sulu and Uhura's face, the joke didn't quite reach them.

Well, damn.

* * *

Chekov played over Scotty's instructions in his head. Left up here, down these steps, around this chamber…

He ducked quickly at the sound of footsteps; this time, they came from under him, on a catwalk directly beneath him. He chanted in a silent prayer that the grey suited man beneath him didn't look up.

As if testing fate, the man stopped directly below the squatted youth.

Chekov should have been fearing for his life, but his eyes instead were trained on the man's phaser, latched to his belt. If he could somehow get ahold of it…

Except, he didn't recognize that mold or make of phaser. Chekov squinted, trying to get a better eye on it.

The man moved on, just as Chekov was formulating an impossible plan he had no hopes of executing; A plan of jumping the man and fighting for that gun, for the upper hand and a chance at survival. A moment later, Chekov was again alone.

Playing a game of cat and mouse with armed terrorists.

Chekov quietly jumped to his feet, hastily making his way down another set of steps, weaving through two reactors…

The ship's core droned the loudest of all the equipment. It was just within the entrance of which that Chekov had hid, briefly. He knew of three exits, all of which would be covered.

He'd need a distraction.

Chekov glanced behind him, as though expecting someone to be watching him.

He found himself staring at the glass pane which separated him from the ship's core.

The entrance that his Captain had died within.

If the thought briefly crossed Chekov's mind of forcefully shutting down the Enterprise to purposely drop it out of flight, it did only that; briefly crossed his mind.

Captain James T Kirk had died saving both this ship and the entirety of its crew at the cost of his life. Chekov didn't fancy himself half the man his (former) Captain was, but he owed it to the man not to destroy his ship. Not if he could avoid such a direction.

He needed to find out the intentions of this crew, and work from there.

Inspired by the thought of his Captain, perhaps in the reckless direction, Chekov pushed himself off from the entrance, out of hiding.

He needed a distraction, and he knew exactly where to get it.

* * *

He bounded towards a screen station, unattended as far as he could tell, logging in quickly to overrule the commands.

He quickly pulled up a floor plan of the engineering deck. A part of him prayed no one currently scourging for him had any background in running the deck.

Chekov quickly plotted his escape route, opening valves that didn't coincide with it. All around him, the sounds of bursting vents filled his ears. Faintly, he could make out the yelling of orders.

Chekov didn't wait to admire his work as one by one, valve symbols of the screen blinked red in warning. He hadn't set them all off, so as Scotty had put it, "there'd be no problem."

Chekov ducked behind a chamber, waiting for the sound of footsteps just as he reached his hand-picked exit. A few chants in Russian prayer escaped his lips.

For a moment, he feared his plan failed, until two pairs of boots sprinted past him.

He prayed a third guard wasn't waiting around the corner.

There wasn't.

Chekov dove at the lift, slamming his fingers on the panel. If his will could have hastened the lift a moment quicker…

They'd be suspicious, no doubt identifying the valves as a trap. He'd set off a timer in causing that distraction, before they realized he'd made a break for it and they'd evacuate the engineer floor in search of him. This was assuming that in a moment, when he reached the bridge, he wasn't met with opposition then and there.

He braced himself for open fire the moment the door slid open.

* * *

"Can you shoot?" The Captain had asked him abruptly.

Chekov gaped at him, before quickly blundering, "B-basic training, sir, I can-"

"Yes, or no, Ensign," Kirk interrupted.

"Y-yes, sir…"

Kirk hesitated, watching the kid as though weighing in whether that was true or not, before clasping him on the shoulder.

"You have the con."

"S-sir?" Chekov asked as the Captain began to walk off, motioning towards Spock to follow him.

"Kid, there's a difference between knowing how to pull a trigger and doing so when you're being shot at."

Chekov continued to gawk at his captain.

"Not all phasers are going to be set to stun. And the longer you can go without learning as much, the better. You have the con Ensign."

Chekov nodded, slumping back into his chair at the missed opportunity to be part of the away team.

When he'd admitted as much to Sulu, muttering his honest disappointment, the pilot responded, "Or you dodged a bullet."

* * *

The moment the lift stopped, Chekov stepped to the side.

The bridge wasn't empty. Not that he'd expected it to be.

"Open the communications frequency, will you?" There was a pause, "Roger."

They weren't aware the lift had arrived, and with someone in tow.

"You have the con. I'll disable the device. Set this thing to auto pilot, and have everyone report to the hollodeck."

"Aye, sir."

Someone was seated in the pilot's seat, Chekov noted as he poked his head from behind the wall. Two men occupied the bridge. The second man, who gave orders, stood near the Captain's chair, just behind the piloting man.

"The Captain wants us off this ship and to our stations immediately. Remember to leave the phaser."

Chekov ducked his head back from behind the wall.

"Aye sir."

Chekov heard the footsteps of the man approach. Not a moment later, he'd rounded into view of the ensign.

Chekov didn't hesitate, jumping out and reaching for the foreign gun tucked into the man's belt.

If Chekov managed to catch the grey suited man off guard, the advantage only lasted momentarily. He came alive, his hands quickly scratching at Chekov's grip around him. He tried kicking at Chekov, but the youth only used this to his benefit by tripping the man, sending them both collapsing to the floor.

The seated figure stood abruptly, reaching for his own belt.

The man who wrestled with Chekov was only an inch or so taller than Chekov himself, but had more strength in the wrestle for the gun. Chekov, however, used his smaller size to his advantage, ducking under him to twist from his grip and lunge at the gun.

Chekov fought for the phaser of the first man, twisting his fingers to aim the phaser loosely at the piloting figure, who hesitated between shooting at Chekov and his crewmate.

The moment his finger felt the trigger, he shot without aim.

Delivering a kick to the man who still gripped at the phaser, Chekov squirmed the gun from his hold. His assailant attempted to get his legs around the Russian's waist, immobilizing him, but Chekov put up a hell of a fight in preventing that. He landed another kick to the man's jaw, which disoriented him enough to loosen his grip on the gun.

Chekov kicked the man off him as soon as the device was securely in Chekov's hand.

He didn't hesitate to shoot.

The man went limp, still lingering half between the bridge and the lift itself, but Chekov hadn't even looked to acknowledge that he'd just killed someone.

He was at the controls instantly.

* * *

He took a moment to track the ship's current course.

Katie had been right; it was heading towards the docking station, suspended just outside Earth's atmosphere.

Except, the trajectory path was incorrect. It was too inclined; it was heading _for _the station. There was no inclination of stopping to dock, but to crash into the station.

Chekov panicked. A beep beneath him alerted him to a communicator in the pocket of the corpse at his feet, though he refused to look at the man. A man he'd killed.

Someone would realize the absence of the pilot.

Chekov swallowed down any guilt or remorse that threatened to surface. He didn't have time to be afraid or repent for what had just transpired.

Chekov instead turned away, neglecting the pilot's station for a moment and bounding to the communication's station.

* * *

"As glad as I am that you're all so concerned about me, I would prefer it if you gave me some space to do my job," Kirk snapped, eyeing the congregation that had gathered around him.

Uhura sat, cross-legged and glaring, at a desk beside Spock, who was the only other one currently with an actual purpose to being at the Archives with Kirk.

Sulu sat in a chair across from her, sending his own disapproving glare the Captain's way.

Kirk almost threatened to citation the two of them.

Bones was behind Kirk, but he could feel the glances the doctor would steal at him, no doubt as distasteful as Sulu and Uhura's blatant ones.

"Why don't we just call up Scotty, too! I'll just stand in the center of the room, and you all can take turns throwing a punch at me. I'm sure he'd like to be a part of that!"

Bones shrugged, contemplating the offer. Sulu quickly looked down, hiding both guilt and pride that he'd already taken one hit at his Captain (He'd do it again, though).

A beep at Uhura's side brought her attention to a communicator; it was Kirk's discarded one, which he'd set down mistakenly at the wrong desk.

"I bet that's him now!"

"Captain Kirk, you're being hailed."

Kirk looked up from his weapons report, meeting Uhura's confused face as she flipped the device open.

"You're finally speaking to me? I didn't even have to whisper sweet, logical nothings for you to-"

_"Keptin Kork!_"

"Chekov?" Uhura suddenly yelped; her attention pulled to the device in hand. Kirk was by her side instantly, gripping for the communicator before quickly addressing, "Ensign, if this is you calling with the desire to return aboard the Enterprise, I'm going to stop you right there. I a-"

_"The Enterprise is under attack!_"

Kirk's shoulders tensed, "What kind of joke-?"

_"Eet's no joke, sir! I-I am aboard her now. A team of hostiles have boarded the ship._"

"Can you confirm they are hostile?"

Chekov's voice dropped, quietly adding, "_Yes sir. Four casualties-sir, five casualties accounted for. Ah…make that seven, sir."_

A knot formed itself in Kirk's throat. He turned his attention to Spock, who listened to the Ensign's report from his seat rigidly.

_"Sir, the ship…it's in flight_."

"Chekov, hold tight. We'll form a team and beam aboard the ship, you stay low-"

"_N-no can do, sir. Zere is no time, I need to-_"

"What do you mean there's not enough time?"

"_The ship is on course for Starfleet's station. They mean to fly her into it. I'll need to manually direct her off the course_-"

"-And we'll beam aboard the ship," Kirk countered.

"_…sir, I have reason to beleef…sir, I overheard…transbeaming is beeng disrupted_-"

Kirk hesitated, wracking his brain for a solution before responding, "What, Ensign?"

"_There ees a device…I do not know vere it is being held. I…I have a chance to hold them, sir. The culprits._"

"What-?"

_"-If I direct the ship into space…if I anchor her once there, while I can, I c-can hold them. It might buy me time to find the device, sir, and destroy it to allow transbeam aboard the ship-_"

"They could always just beam out of there; Chekov, don't! We could beam you out-"

"Uhura," Kirk warned.

"_There is no time. You…you are not at controls, as I am. I can disable the transbeam from the ship, I can do zat. I can pilot the ship into space, eesentially isolating them…Assuming they have no ground team to beam them out, should they disable their device voluntarily…_"

Chekov went quiet for a moment, before adding, "sir, there's something else."

"…go on, Chekov."

_"I believe they are…under Starfleet_."

"That's a bold accusation, Chekov-"

"_I overheard them, sir. They referred to a 'Keptin' and…and one of the traitors was our own. I…I believe Keptin Daniels, sir, may be involved…"_

Kirk threw a hand over his mouth, filling the moment with silence briefly. Referring to someone as 'Captain' wasn't enough to condemn someone as a part of Starfleet. On the other hand, Kirk really didn't like Daniels…

"_…Keptin?_"

"I'm with you, Chekov. Chekov, hold tight, we're going to beam you out of there-"

_"There eez…one more thing, sir._"

Kirk didn't bother answering, allowing Chekov to continue.

"_The…phasers, sir. They are not of Starfleet regulation. The design I…I do not recognize."_

At this, Spock interjected, "Are they perhaps Klingon in appearance, Ensign?"

Kirk's shoulders dropped. If Chekov confirmed, that could solidify that someone with Starfleet access…

_"I-I believe so, sir!_" Chekov chirped.

"Shit."

_"Eez no time, sir. I-I need to act now, before my position is given away. I can pilot the ship from the plenet; if I can locate the device preventing transbeam, I can disable it to allow a recon team to react-_"

"That's too dangerous and I won't allow it, Ensign. That ship isn't cleared for space yet, even-"

"The ship is heading for space, whether we like it or not," Sulu suddenly yelled.

Kirk ignored him.

"Chekov, do not engage-"

_"All due respect, Keptin…Y-you are no longer my Keptin._"

Kirk swallowed, "I'm still an over-ranking officer within Starfleet, Chekov. I still have authority to order you-"

_"Zere ees no more time, sir. I-I am sorry."_

"Chekov! That is still my ship, Chekov, I cannot allow you to put it and yourself in danger-!"

There was a break in the connection, and a faint buzz.

"Chekov!"

Uhura had clasped both hands over her mouth, staring blankly at the communicator as though it was Chekov's corpse in hand.

"Captain-"

"Not now Spock," Kirk whispered.

"Kirk, to-"

"Spock!" Kirk yelled, exasperated. He was afraid. Afraid that he remained helpless in the face that someone, a part of his own crew (Resignation be damned) and his ship were now in danger. And what's worse, the enemy was domestic.

"Captain, I only mean to point out Chekov's observations and that we must heed the warning, as a precautionary."

"What?"

"Chekov believes the infiltrators are of Starfleet. If and when they come to realize they no longer have a means of beaming from the ship, they may attempt to reach out to a source earthbound to beam them out, assuming they do in fact operate from earth. Our part in assisting Ensign Chekov is to investigate from our end what we can. I suggest we barricade any station that could potentially beam our assailants out, while also remaining on standby for the moment we too may beam aboard the ship. Also, we might look into the Ensign's proposed theory of Captain Daniels' involvement."

Kirk turned to face Uhura, "Get Scotty. Get him to meet us at the hollodeck station in the Admiral Building; No one is getting in or out of there without our verification. Spock, run as many scans as you can on the Enterprise; find a crack in their device and get me connected somehow with her."

"Sir, Chekov…" Uhura began to ask.

"Ensign Chekov is on his own," Spock provided.

Kirk ignored Spock. To hell he was.

* * *

Chekov ran his fingers across Sulu's station, operating everything as quickly as he could before switching to his own screen.

The Captain wasn't happy with his plan at all; not that Chekov was too fond of it, either.

Chekov read the same dissertation they all had. The one of how Kirk's father, the last captain of the USS Kelvin who was such for twelve minutes, manned the ship and saved the 800 lives of his crew and passengers.

And son.

Chekov had read of how in his final minutes, Captain George Kirk had handled the entire bridge solely by himself.

Chekov couldn't hope to possess the same gene as the Kirk's, nor did his feat of directing an empty ship compete with saving eight-hundred lives. Still, it helped to imagine that piloting a ship single-handedly was possible.

He'd heard Uhura with him. And Spock and Sulu. He didn't fathom why they would all be, but it was a pleasant surprise. It was the only one of the day.

Morning, Chekov reminded himself. It was still morning.

Not that he could quite tell. The ship was breaking from the atmosphere as he spoke; solid space laid before him through the window pane. It was a familiar sight; the black endlessness of space and stars. Earth was behind him.

Chekov punched in coordinates-anything to just get them away from Earth and the station-and jumped from his seat, pulling forth the phaser he'd taken from the dead man, who still laid somewhere between his station and the lift, unmoved.

Chekov may not last much longer, but he wasn't about to leave these terrorists much options, either.

The hollodeck was empty. Chekov didn't hesitate to take aim at the controls and shoot.

Three blasts left shattered glass and an irreparable frame.

He hoped the Captain would set up scans surrounding the ship. The moment the device was retracted to allow an outside source to beam them from the ship—the moment the communications were transmitted to alert an outside force, if one was standing by, the Captain would be aware of it. Which would open the opportunity for the Captain to beam aboard. Or, if luck was with them, they'd beam the terrorists straight into captivity, if they could.

* * *

What possibly had given Chekov any hope that he'd have time to escape the bridge before he was caught was a hope dashed the moment he re-entered the bridge, only to enter at exactly the same time the lift opened, revealing three grey-suited men.

Chekov ducked the moment he heard the lift, sparing his life as three phasers fired overhead.

Just as he ducked, he shot twice and heard someone scream out in pain. Whether it was a kill shot or not, Chekov didn't think on.

He dove behind the captain's chair, popping up briefly to shoot twice more.

Chekov missed, but so did they. One man made a step towards Chekov-it wasn't like his cover was exactly a good one at that.

Chekov reacted by shooting twice more; these rounds hit the man squarely in the chest.

Several more blasts and another round of blind shooting by Chekov.

He needed to get out of here. Disable the device, whatever and wherever it was, that disallowed beaming.

Chekov made a ditch effort, jumping from his position.

It was suicide, he thought.

Maybe being in such close proximity to the chair had inspired him.

Chekov didn't hesitate. Had he, the blast would have gone through something vital. He shot twice, precision shots that he didn't know he had in him.

His attackers were down immediately. Chekov didn't pause to look at their faces, to see where he'd hit them. Breathing heavily, he stood and stepped once more towards the pilot station…

…Only to collapse, gripping at the nearest standing station to support himself. His vision was blurred. Chekov leaned against the wall and slid down it, finally realizing he'd been crying. He reached a hand to his cheek, dabbing at the streaks of tears. Curious, he looked down at his fingers, but saw the tears were red.

No, they weren't red. That was blood.

Chekov looked down further, noticing a wet stain just above his hip. Through the red fabric, it was difficult to see, but the shade of red was different enough to notice.

He'd been shot.

* * *

"C'mon…c'mon…"

"Identify yourself, rank and reason."

The Officer whipped around, petrified as his worst fear entered the room. Scratch that, every nightmare followed him in.

"C-Captain Kirk-"

"Identify," Kirk barked.

Commander Spock stood behind him, eyeing him up and down, judging him.

The girl with them, however, spoke up before he had a chance. She looked familiar but he had no name to put her with-

"You're Captain Daniels' first officer, aren't you?"

"Officer Blaney?" Spock questioned. Shit, they knew him.

Blaney sat at the only operating station within the hollodeck. He was a broad man, tall and square but not very bright comparatively to the interrogation squad that now filed in the small room, surrounding him. He had fair hair that was clean cut to the standard and pale eyes to match.

He'd been there since eight hundred hours, but was overdue a progress report transmission from the team. Things must not be going so smoothly over there as they'd envisioned.

And, to top all that, now he was being confronted by the last man he would want to see. Captain James T Kirk, of the Enterprise (The very ship he was a part of sabotaging). Not to mention the Captain's (was this his entire bridge crew?) crew.

"A-aye sir, I-"

"You haven't told us what you're doing here, at the hollodeck yet, have you?" Kirk cut in. He looked ready to murder, and Blaney doubted Spock, as regulation-driven as he was, would report him. Not if they had any idea…

Behind Spock stood the woman who'd recognized Blaney (Maybe they'd been cadets together. Hadn't she been in one of his classes?). Behind her stood a scowling man, distinguishable in his medical garb as a doctor. Blaney could barely make out the man behind him, other than he was of Asian descent and looked no happier than the rest.

Blaney slowly reached for the phaser tucked in his belt-

"Oi, what's this about?" A fourth voice broke through. In entered a disheveled man, whom everyone in the room turned to acknowledge.

Blaney used the opportunity to pull his gun, aiming for the Captain.

Spock was one step ahead of him.

He was disarmed and numb on the floor in seconds.

"Spock!" Uhura jumped.

"Really? You were going to take on the six of us?"

Kirk was on him instantly.

"What the hell is going on? What have you done to my ship? Is it Daniels? Is Daniels running this whole operation?"

Blaney sewed his mouth shut, refusing to respond. Kirk punch the ground beside his ear.

"Jim, damn it-" Bones warned.

"I'm sorry, what exactly am I missing..? Lieutenant here mentioned the ship was in space..? 'Cept, that can't be right-"

"It is, Scotty."

Scotty laughed nervously, but quickly caught on that no one else was.

"Well, but…but, whose piloting her?"

"Chekov."

Scotty waited for more names listed, but when none were given, he looked disbelievingly between the gathered party.

"Chekov?!"

"Just Chekov."

"Sir, Captain…The ship can't be in space. Nothing is cleared for it, the stress on the engine alone-! Not to mention the frame, there's 'nough holes in that to rip her apart-"

"A crack in hull, I've been telling you for years, Jim, it'll-"

"McCoy, always a pleasure. I'll fill you in, Scotty, but there isn't much more about the situation that I know than what you now know. Chekov and the ship are on route into space. They," Kirk nudged at Blaney, "have some device on board that is disrupting beam abilities. So, for the moment, Chekov is on his own-" Kirk admitted the last part bitterly.

Scotty scratched at his head, "Well, then we'll wait for them to disable the device. Then we'll beam aboard-"

"They won't do it," Blaney finally laughed. Kirk gripped the officer at the collar, hoisting him up.

"What do you mean?"

"Our orders…they won't lift the device without my say so. One keyword from me, an' they'll know the operation is blown. We knew what we were getting into, and they'll stop at nothing…" Blaney trailed off, smiling at his victory.

Kirk's shoulders dropped.

"It's suicide."

"Pardon?" Scotty asked.

"They were planning to fly the ship into the station. That was their objective…if they can't beam out of there…" Uhura whispered.

"-They'll stay on board. So long as they crash the ship," Spock finished.

"You said the Ensign was flying the ship, though," Scotty beamed, trying to push away the negative.

"What's one kid against an army?"

"How many of you are there? Aboard the ship? Now!"

Blaney shook his head.

"Does it matter? More than enough to take care of an ensign. With no field experience?" Blaney chuckled.

"They'll try to take the controls from Chekov. We need him to disable the device…"

There was a beep at Kirk's side. He jumped from Blaney, only to allow Sulu to take his place in holding the traitor down, quickly flipping the communicator open.

"-_Keptin_?"

Everyone froze, turning towards Kirk.

"Chekov? Chekov, can you hear me?"

"_-Keptin!...the communica-…_"

"Chekov, hold…hold on, Chekov, you're fading in and out-"

"_-S-sir, I destroyed the hollodeck h-here sir…I do not th-think the ban has been lifted…_"

Kirk sighed, "I know, kid."

"_Sir, I…_"

"What is it, Chekov?"

_"I have been shot, sir…"_

Kirk turned to McCoy, gravely remarking, "Kid needs to talk to you."

Kirk didn't spare Blaney the satisfaction of looking at him.

* * *

"Kid, where've you been hit?"

McCoy was surprisingly calm, or if anything he was quieter. He'd stepped aside, and everyone seemed to stand clear of him as though to give him space. As though he was performing an operation with his very hands.

"_My side, sir…_" Chekov replied

"Anything vital?"

Chekov shook his head, but realizing McCoy couldn't see as much, hastily added, "_No. I d-don't think so._"

"Clean cut? Went straight through you?"

_"Y-yes._" How could a laser not.

"Kid, can you clean it?"

Chekov looked about him. There wasn't exactly any supplies…

_"I-I don't…_"

"Alright, you'll need to dress it. You're keeping pressure on it, aren't you?"

"_I am, sir_."

"Well, keep doing that. Stop it from bleeding. How bad is it? Are you alright?"

Chekov smirked, "_I'm fine…Eet ees not so painful a-anymore…_"

The Medical Bay would have been cleared of supplies. Not that Chekov would have chanced trying to make his way there. He doubted a first aid kit even remained. The likelihood of him finding one on the bridge, however, was even less.

Chekov didn't have much experience in dressing a wound; rather, he had none; other than basic training.

"Alright, try to dress it. Here's what you're gonna do…"

As instructed by McCoy, Chekov did his best to clean and dress the wound. He discarded his jacket, stripping to just the red uniform. He tore a strip of fabric, tightening it around his waist, before tying the jacket over his hip to keep the bandage in place. Chekov settled back into his chair, breathing heavily before confirming to McCoy that he'd finished.

"How's it look, Ensign? Talk to me, damnit-"

_"G-good sir_," Chekov tried to laugh, "_Good as new!_"

McCoy had seen enough wounds to know a patch-up treatment by unskilled hands with no equipment on hand wouldn't look 'good as new'.

He doubted Chekov's description did the wound justice, either.

"_Da, eez good…_" Chekov rasped through the con. There was a sharp intake and McCoy flinched, "What's wrong kid? Talk to me?"

"_Nozing, sir. I-I think I am done…_"

There was a pause, and finally, "_Thank you, Dokter…_"

"Sure, kid," McCoy choked out.

Suddenly, Chekov quickly added, "_I have to go. They'll return soon..._"

"Chekov, where-?"

"_The device, sir, I…I think eets on the engineering bridge, sir…I-I haff thought about it, and…I-I zink zey are keeping it there, sir…it m-might explain the security there, sir_…"

"Chekov, don't go. Chekov, we'll…we have one of them, you hear? He'll talk; we'll get him to communicate with his buddies, have them surrender. We'll remove the beam barrier, we'll get aboard, just….just, don't move, Chekov-"

_"I m-must, sir_."

A moment too late, Kirk added, "Wait, Chekov, don't-"

But the line was already dead.

McCoy handed the communicator to Kirk, like he didn't want to touch it; to have any part in it.

"Get the kid out of there, Jim," he warned; more pleaded.

* * *

The moment communications died, Chekov hesitated for just a moment, seated at Uhura's station. If he left the bridge, he'd leave it open for any of the grey suits to realign the ship's course straight into the station. They had to be aware that by now, they weren't being hailed to the hollodeck. Something was amiss with their plan.

Chekov couldn't wholly stop them, but he could delay them.

He hobbled back to his station, securing the coordinates of their destination.

Then, he locked it.

If anyone left of the crew had the capabilities to hack past Chekov's last ditch efforts, then it'd at least take them awhile to do so. Chekov tried to buy himself as much time as he could.

Enough time to physically find the device, which he only had a hunch was somewhere on the engineering deck.

Chekov reached across his station, snatching the phaser before pushing himself up from his chair.

Chekov gripped the gun, his other hand still pressuring the wound. Limping his way to the lift, he dove into it as his feet gave in. He stepped over bodies that he refused to look at. He kept his chin high, looking anywhere but the dead faces of the terrorists-men-at his feet.

Breathing heavily, he forced himself to the wall to slide back up against it, slamming his hand into the engineering deck option. The lift door closed just as he slid back down to the floor again-

Except, it wouldn't close. A body laid between the lift and the bridge.

Chekov felt a shiver run through his spine, and suddenly began to panic. He kicked at the corpse's feet, trying to push the legs from the lift.

His eyes found those of the dead man, still open and grey and watching Chekov.

A sob escaped Chekov just as he managed to push the man from the lift. The door closed and in an instant, the lift was dropping.

Chekov curled into himself, still gripping his side that now burned with irritation. He'd most likely reopened it. He tried putting more pressure on it, but already his side was growing numb. He wasn't sure if shock was taking over him, or fading.

He hadn't said goodbye, he thought.

* * *

Kirk was on Blaney instantly.

"Tell us everything!"

Blaney didn't so much as open his mouth.

Kirk held his fist near Blaney, threatening.

"Kirk!" Uhura warned.

"Tell me-"

"Kid 's already gone? Didn't'ja hear?" Blaney smirked. "Ya think he'll make it far? With that wound of his…"

Kirk socked him square in the nose.

And he didn't stop.

"Jim!" Bones warned, stepping towards Kirk. But, Spock beat him to the Captain, gripping his wrist before yanking Kirk off the officer.

"Spock, you-"

Without a word, Spock threw a hand to Blaney's temple.

Kirk settled back, slumping to the ground to sit in waiting. Blaney struggled before going limp. Finally, Spock turned to Kirk and admitted, "Ensign Chekov was correct. The device is being held on the engineering bridge. Also, it may be worth bringing Captain Daniels into this affair; he may provide more extensive knowledge on this operation," Spock warned. Kirk caught his meaning.

"Daniels is behind this."

"I suggest he be trialed and attested to such."

"And the kid?" Bones threw in.

"Nothing's changed. He's on his own, until he can disable the device…"

"Tha' can't be all? Surely, we can…"

"Scotty," Kirk sighed, exasperated. "We can't…" Kirk's shoulders sunk. He hated to admit how useless they all were to Chekov, but at the moment…

"Also, I can confirm First Officer Blaney here personally saw to the removal of our missing-and-accounted-for Klingon weaponries. I believe they, Blaney and his operating team-"

"-Daniels," Kirk corrected.

"-were seeking a war; rather, a continuation of what Admiral Marcus started. In the difficult and strained times of now, they sought to sabotage the Starfleet Station. Within the wreckage would be such phasers of Klingon design, of which would placate the blame upon the Klingon federation, forcing into action a declaration-"

"They meant to start a war, using my ship."

"Considering its recent endeavors as of lately, it seemed only fitting that if any repercussion of revenge was sought after by the Klingons, it involved-"

"Bullshit; Daniels hates me."

"Yes, that appears to have been a majority of the motive as well," Spock added.

"Bullshit plan, if you ask me. It'd take more evidence to rouse the council to declare war," Bones grumbled.

"With the state of things as is? And as many former supporters of Admiral Marcus' remain? I'm surprised it'd take any evidence at all," Kirk countered.

"Officer Spock, personally accompany me to the formal arrest of Captain Daniels. Scotty; stay here on stand by the moment the cloaking over beam is lifted. Bones, you're with me. In case the kid calls in…" Kirk didn't finish the order, turning instead to Sulu and Uhura.

"Uhura, alert the council of our predicament and get back up to report here at Scotty's disposal. The minute we're available, beam them aboard my ship and take it back. Sulu, go with Uhura. Take Blaney with you, too."

Kirk nearly had both feet out of the room when Uhura called back,

"Captain."

She looked between Kirk and Spock, finally settling on Kirk, "Chekov…is going to be alright, sir." She was trying to instill confidence in him, but it came out more of a question than she'd wanted.

Kirk hesitated, then smiled and responded, "Of course he is! He's a part of the Enterprise; that's one crew you can't easily break."

Uhura didn't remind him that Chekov had resigned, as of a day ago.

* * *

Uhura sat in a chair, which she'd pulled up to just the edge of Kirk's bed. The gathered party had diminished significantly; all who remained were Spock, who had currently stepped outside along with Doctor McCoy, Uhura, and Chekov, who still lingered silently in the corner.

Kirk didn't seem to notice, or care, because he didn't say anything. So, Chekov stayed.

Uhura had calmed her ranting down, and now spoke quietly to Kirk.

It was well known to Chekov (rather, anyone aboard the Enterprise who cared enough to look) that something transpired between Lieutenant Uhura and First Officer Spock. Kirk could throw his quips and flirts her way, but she'd never took the bait.

That wasn't to say they didn't have their own relationship, nearly as intimate.

Uhura stroked Kirk's hand, worriedly watching him. They'd gone quiet for a while now, and Chekov wondered if perhaps he should speak up; suggest that Uhura and himself take their leave.

Just as he had this thought, Chekov was interrupted from his thoughts by Kirk speaking up, softly,

"I was afraid."

Chekov stiffened, like he'd just heard something he wasn't supposed to. His captain was admitting to having been afraid to die; who wasn't?

The lingering "I still am" hanged over Kirk's words without ever being spoken.

Uhura simply nodded, her eyes never leaving Kirk's.

"It's alright…"

And they didn't say any more than that.

Chekov's hand twitched. He tried not to look at either Uhura or the Captain's face. He instead looked to their hands, with Uhura still gently stroking the back of Kirk's palm.

A moment later, Spock and Bones returned. Uhura stood up abruptly and commanded Chekov to follow her, like she'd never forgotten he was there.

Kirk's eyes darted to Chekov for the first time that entire afternoon. He smiled in acknowledgement of the Ensign, but his tears still held the faint sign of tears. Chekov looked down, unable to meet his Captain's eyes.

* * *

If Chekov had any advantage, it was that he should be dead by now, but wasn't. And that was something.

Chekov knew the exits would be guarded. The lift would open to reveal at least two, maybe more, guards. He'd have a moment's advantage; the men might mistake him as one of their own coming down from the bridge. They wouldn't expect the very kid they thought they were containing on the engineering deck to be arriving at it.

Chekov blinked back tears, hoisting the gun to the level of his eye.

He'd found no stun setting. These phasers weren't regulated by Starfleet. They were weapons of wartime only.

Chekov reminded himself that if he didn't shoot first, they would.

The lift door opened abruptly. Chekov, panicked, shot three rounds before he'd even accounted for how many grey suits stood before him.

There were only two. One hadn't even turned around to see Chekov.

Chekov didn't stop, slinking from the lift and past the two bodies, clearing every corner before moving on.

He didn't know what he was looking for. He had no idea what the design or size of the device was. He only had a hunch he'd find something out-of-place amongst the engineering deck.

But why? Why keep the device on the engineering deck? Where, for the most part, the men assumed Chekov was still freely hiding on. If they contained Chekov, wouldn't it make sense to move the device to another deck, another level, that was clear of any potential threats?

Unless it had to be on the engineering deck.

Whatever technology they possessed, it in some way needed to be contained on this level. It needed to be connected to something.

It disrupted transbeaming. To interfere with such, it'd need…

Chekov played over the calculations and the theories in his head. Placing himself in an engineer's shoes, he questioned what it would take to disrupt the ability to beam, the frequency…

He tried to imagine what Scotty might say. Whatever possibility Chekov was missing, Scotty would have pointed out.

He needed Scotty-

"_We can't get ahold of the Chief Scott, I just thought that you having been…"_

Chekov's eyes shot open the moment he heard Katie's voice. The world went sideways and Chekov slumped to the floor, his grip on the phaser loosening and falling from his fingers.

His heart dropped to his knees.

The universe had a funny way with timing. Chekov's head slumped forward as his body went numb; panicked. And there, not but a few feet away, he could just make out the undeniable feminine feet of Katie herself.

Chekov crawled towards the corpse, his legs having gone limp as he struggled with his arms alone to inch his way. Rounding the corner of a chamber, he saw three bodies, laying where he'd last seen them standing.

Katie stared at him, open eyes that hadn't quite registered fear yet. Still beaming at Morgan's arrival.

The nameless man was turned away from Chekov.

Richards still reached out towards the railing, as though still in mid-motion of pushing Chekov off.

"_Did you find the problem?"_ Katie's eyes asked him.

The nameless man answered, _"Ensign Chekov, from the bridge."_

Richards must have always suspected something wrong with Morgan. A moment later, Chekov felt the nudge in his side, as though Richards was pushing him again.

Chekov choked out a sob, stifling himself quickly. He couldn't afford to get caught now.

Chekov reached a trembling hand out to Katie, offering his respect in closing her bewildered eyes.

Chekov stumbled to stand, moving on.

* * *

"Captain Daniels," Kirk greeted, showing no signs of hostility as he entered the captain's office. Daniels looked on edge, but eased slightly.

"Kirk. Always a pleasure-"

"-no it's not."

Daniels nodded. He wouldn't argue.

"Curious that you should visit me-"

"-Why's that?"

Daniels paused, watching Kirk who particularly was on his toes about interrupting him. His First officer, Spock, stood just behind him, curiously glancing between himself and Kirk as though expecting…something.

A third man stood aggressively behind Spock, looking livid.

"I was on my way, as you would have it. An interesting report reached my ears. A transmission, intercepted by my own officer-"

Kirk's expression didn't change; neither did the Vulcan's. The third man, however, rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines "I'll bet."

Daniels' eye twitched.

"A Klingon scout; appeared and warped from the atmosphere. We have no leads yet on its purpose, but…"

"That is interesting," Kirk mock announced. "Convenient, too."

"I'm sorry?"

"Weaponry reports have listed a stolen item; some Klingon arsenal, as it were," Kirk smirked, reaching out at some frame on Daniels' desk.

"Are you suggesting a team of Klingon's infiltrated the weaponry department? I haven't heard of this report-"

"Well, I haven't heard of yours." Kirk countered, snapping back to face Daniels.

"Kirk," Spock warned.

"What are you insinuating, Captain?" Daniels asked, a hint of sarcasm as he addressed Kirk.

"Well, I just think it's…odd, that the Klingon's are suddenly acting up. It's a bit sloppy, too, don't you think? Why would they risk breaching our security to steal back their own weapons? Of everything housed down there, they take what, I can only assume, they already have?"

"Not a very smart race," Daniels offered. Kirk shook his head.

"No; that'd say something about our security, too. That an _outside _source could easily break into it. No, see, I don't think Klingons were involved at all."

If Daniels was fearing the direction of this conversation, he showed no signs of such.

"You're making quite the accusation, there, Captain."

"You have no idea."

* * *

Chekov stumbled, gripping at the nearest anything to keep him on his feet. Heaving, he glanced about him, checking for any signs of movement.

The wound had reopened. It'd even dripped a bit. The trail he was leaving would give away his position soon, so he kept moving.

He was his own ticking time bomb.

Chekov looked up, blinking several times to clear his vision. He couldn't afford to give up now. He had one task left; a last order.

Chekov continued to stare at his surroundings, before finally piecing together where he was.

He was at the core of the ship.

Chekov let his head nod off. Maybe if he just rested for a moment…

Captain wouldn't mind, would he?

Chekov slumped forward, trying to catch himself but slipping in doing so. He landed on his chest, but didn't attempt to push himself back up.

He need to move, the grey suits would find him; they'd follow the trail of blood-

"_I just thought-"_ Katie offered.

Chekov's eyes shot wide open.

"_We'll find another way,"_ Kirk pleaded.

"_You'll hav' te try 'arder,"_ Scotty laughed.

Chekov nodded, bringing his hands to his sides and pushing himself up.

His knee slid under him, raising his back as he struggled to stand.

He muttered something; he wasn't sure what he even said. He wasn't sure if it was English, or Russian-

What was the last thing he'd said to them?

"_I must."_

Chekov felt the bullet tear through his back before he heard the shot.

* * *

"Help me out, will you?" Uhura asked, handing him a PADD.

Chekov blinked, looking between the Lieutenant and the calculations she'd offered him.

He quickly tapped at the tool before handing it back, equation completed.

"Thanks," Uhura accepted the PADD, without looking up at Chekov.

The two were in the cafeteria, virtually alone save a crew member in the corner and a cook back in the kitchen. It was late as, other than the few graveyard shifts, most of the ship was asleep.

Uhura and Chekov, however, sat up in each other's company, finalizing the coordinates and transmissions for the next day's venture. Chekov had little purpose, other than keeping Uhura company.

They hadn't spoken much, but Chekov knew Uhura had a lot on her mind. He hadn't meant to, but he'd come across her and First Commander Spock just that morning. He'd heard rumors and the chatter of gossip of the crew. He minded her privacy, but he still wondered.

The Russian continued to stare before finally admitting, "Vhat's it like?"

He knew he was out of place in this moment. It was a risk, and if Uhura took offense, he'd retreat to his room and apologize a thousand times over, but…

"Being loved is the same, regardless of race or species. It's different for each person, but to me, being loved by Spock is the same as if any other man or woman loved me whom I loved back."

Chekov blushed, looking down. He hadn't meant anything by their species or culture. He'd only meant what was it like to be in love, or to think you were in any case. Loving a person was different than loving a hobby or your job or, in Scotty's case, the ship.

He'd meant what was being in love like, not just being loved by a Vulcan.

"Being loved is like…Actually living."

Chekov didn't dare ask what that meant. He'd reached his limit on treading questions. It was now up to Uhura for whatever she revealed.

"It's a slow thrill you only really experience once, while it's happening. While you're in love…"

* * *

Chekov disagreed. Dying gave him such a thrill; a desire and passion for living. He wondered if this is what Uhura meant. He wondered if dying and being in love were the same.

"You got close, kid," a chuckle from behind him muttered.

Chekov gasped, struggling to turn over to his back. It was a clean shot, just shy of his spine. But it'd be enough.

Chekov recognized the face. It was the dark haired man he'd seen, when he first arrived. The man outside, at the check point.

The man kicked at the phaser in Chekov's hand, sending it skidding away.

"Ensign, huh? What's your name, kid? Cherpov? Paskel? Kid…c'mon, now. You were outta your league from the beginning."

The man held something up; Chekov didn't get a good look at it before the man had already lowered it to his side again.

"This what you were looking for? Neat, isn't it? Our own Chief Engineer whipped it up. Montegomery Scott ain't the only genius in Star Fleet, ya know?"

Chekov didn't look down, but he felt the man's foot crush against his leg. Chekov cursed out in Russian.

"C'mon. Give up, kid. You had a…damn good run. You took out…Adams. O'Brien...Holloway and Skeetes…Davies…I mean, kid," The man chuckled, "I'll give you that-you went down…well, I'd say with a fight, but you're not exactly putting up one right now."

The man sighed. "I'll admit it; it's a shame. You're what? Sixteen? Twenty? You're pretty young. Shouldn't have squandered that on joining Starfleet-"

"You did," Chekov spat out.

The man smiled, nodding in agreement. "True. Then, neither of us can complain when the time comes-well, your time, I guess, is already here…"

The man coughed, stepping over Chekov.

"Have fun with that," he motioned towards the wounds, both of which were bleeding profusely. "I've got to take care of some little hiccup; turns out, the ship took a wrong turn. Gotta set her back on course. I'll be taking this with me, of course," he again motioned to something in his hands. "Don't trust to leave it here anymore."

Chekov listened to the footsteps, but never grasped on when exactly the man had left.

Chekov heaved, trying to straighten himself up, only to fall back.

Adams…O'Brien…Holloway and Skeetes and Davies…

Those were the names, of the men he'd-

Morgan. Katie. Richards. The nameless man…

Chekov closed his eyes.

In the back of his head, he could hear Katie asking him to accompany her to engineering, just briefly.

Kirk told him to hold still.

"Sorry, s-sir…"

* * *

"Uhura! Good of you to join us," Kirk warned, just as the communications officer entered Daniels' office. She looked quickly between Kirk and Daniels, throwing her chin back like she was swallowing poison.

"Captain," she offered to Daniels. Daniels caught the subtleties in her actions, but said nothing on them.

"Uhura-Captain Daniels, interestingly enough, intercepted…excuse me, his own communications officer intercepted a transmission. It appears a Klingon scout warped by Earth's atmosphere, only to almost immediately warp back. I was curious, did you come across any findings like such?"

Uhura didn't trust herself to speak, watching Kirk with curiosity and shaking her head.

"Interesting…Actually, Captain, I came here because I have some grave news of my own. It appears the Enterprise has been overtaken."

Daniels feigned surprise, but perhaps a thread of it was honest.

"Have you identified the assailants?"

"No."

Spock shot Kirk a quick glance.

"Could it be the Klingon scout distributed spies? The very team that would have stolen your missing phasers also having taken control of the ship-"

"Let's not be so quick to blame Klingons," Kirk bit back. He remained surprisingly calm throughout the conversation. McCoy turned away. Uhura shifted her hips, curiously following Kirk's ploy of lies.

"As it turns out, I have a man onboard."

Daniels seemed to hesitate, just for a moment, "Have you obtained contact with him?"

"…No."

"…I pray he'll be alright. Klingons can be unforgiving."

Kirk didn't respond.

"Daniels, you remember my First Officer, Commander Spock."

Daniels nodded slowly.

"Why, it seems…the other day, actually, I was trying and couldn't for the life of me remember who your own first officer was…Lieutenant Uhura, who is Captain Daniels' First Officer?"

"Officer Blaney," Daniels answered for her.

"Blaney, huh…that's right. Decent fellow?" Kirk asked more than confirmed, spitting out the question. "First Officers…Sometimes, I feel bad, you know? They say you need to serve as a First Officer for a time, before working your way into becoming Captain. I, myself, was First Officer for a whole, what, two minutes? You, though, you served as a First Officer…why, for Admiral Marcus awhile, didn't you?"

"Good man," Daniels grumbled.

"Ya? So was Admiral Pike."

A beat passed before Sulu came rushing into the office.

"Sir, the Guards are on their way-"

"What's the meaning of this?" Daniels blurted out. He stepped towards the door, towards Sulu and Uhura, but Kirk was in front of him almost immediately.

"Captain Daniels, you're under arrest for treason and mutiny against Starfleet-"

"To hell I am! What's this about-"

"First Officer Blaney is giving his testimony as we speak against you. It would be unwise to resist arrest-"

"Blaney-?! What's this? You have nothing on me-!"

"First Officer Blaney's testimony, along with the testimony of an Enisgn Chekov will be enough alone to condemn you for the-"

Guards had rushed into the office. Daniels lifted a hand against Kirk, but was stopped by militants stepping in. Kirk dodged by stepping aside, continuing his listings of offenses Daniels had committed.

"You can't stop the war against Klingons! What Marcus started? What I tried to continue-it's on a natural course to happening! I only meant to speed it along! You won't stop it! That man of yours, on board? He won't last! He's the first casualty in a war you yourself had a hand in starting! You can't back out of it now! You can't-"

Kirk was in Daniels' face immediately.

"You and Admiral Marcus were and are insane. A war with the Klingons may be inevitable, but you only would have succeeded in putting Starfleet itself in chaos, leaving it vulnerable to attack from Klingons should they choose to act. Your plan was half-baked at best, and you should be thankful my man was onboard to stop it. You think you were acting in the greater good for Starfleet, but you were just causing unnecessary panic and a mess that'd be too great for even you to clean up. There are casualties in war and you can't control that, but I can prevent it if there is no war-"

"Your man is as good as dead!"

Uhura gasped from behind Kirk. McCoy stepped forward to intervene, but Kirk waved him back.

"I can't wait to see your face at your own trial when he's called to testify against you, then. I'll make sure it's documented."

Kirk whipped back to face his crew the moment Daniels was escorted from the room.

"Any word from Scotty?"

* * *

"Blaney, you bastard. C'mon, pick up…"

The lift suddenly opened.

"What the hell-"

Three shots were fired immediately.

The man, by reflex, dove from the seat. In his haste, he fumbled and dropped the phaser. Chekov cursed audibly from the lift, stepping out and limping towards the man. The grey suit crawled, scrambling to climb back into the chair and reach his own phaser, discarded on the station, but Chekov had reached him already. Chekov slapped the gun down, across the bridge. The man dove after it, but Chekov had already aimed and taken fire at his shoulder.

The man fell, cringing and clinging to his arm and cursing as he looked up at Chekov looming over him.

"You've got one foot in the grave-"

"_Poka_."

The last thing the dark-haired man saw was a kid, with half a foot in his own grave, in a red shirt, stumble to land a punch, before falling unconscious.

Chekov tripped backwards, stumbling into his own seat. He coughed, spitting up a gurgle of blood that had gathered in his mouth. The bitter taste of rust stained his teeth.

He wondered how long the man would be out. Hopefully long enough for Chekov to destroy the device.

Not that that should take him long…

The device was circular, and the closer Chekov came to it, a faint ringing filled his ears. He gripped at it, lifting the device from its place on the pilot's station.

Chekov didn't hesitate to lift his phaser, shooting the object point blank.

His hand let the device go, falling to his side. The gun slipped from his grip as well, dropping onto the station desk. Chekov slumped back in his own seat.

He'd done it.

His arms fell to his side. Both wounds were gushing, his first having opened. His shirt was drenched and cold where blood bled through the fabric. It'd soaked through to his pants, and trickled down his arm and fingers. His entire body seemed to slowly be consumed by red, leaving only his face, for the majority, untainted.

As if on cue, he coughed up another choke of blood that spilt over his chin.

Chekov looked forward, his shoulders slumping as his body went numb.

He stared out the window. Before him stood space; pure and black and empty save for stars too far to reach. Earth was behind him. The Academy and base and America and Russia and grass and everything were behind him. Just out of sight.

Being a part of Starfleet, there always was a risk that he'd die in space, or on a planet far from home; from Earth. Coping with your own mortality was a subject Starfleet made sure to cover. They instill in you what space is truly like, the terrifying void without sound and air and that if you ever find yourself lost in it, what that crippling feeling is like. They teach you about planets and creatures and dangers and give you an idea what it might be like to die at the hands of such; far away from the comforts and securities of home or even your own ship.

And here he was, dying just outside Earth's atmosphere, in said ship.

He wanted to look to the side, to make sure he'd destroyed the device. There were still hostiles aboard the ship. The ship itself was safely anchored from the station, but it wouldn't last long in this position. The Enterprise wasn't supposed to be in space.

Chekov tried to turn his head, to check, but found he couldn't move.

His head dipped forward, his eyes being pulled from the window to his station.

The screen still blinked, waiting for an authorization code.

Chekov breathed through his teeth.

He hoped the others would arrive soon; beam aboard the ship and save the day. (Hadn't he just saved the day?) He _hoped_ the Captain, no longer his captain, wouldn't be too angry with Chekov. He was worried what Scotty might say-taking the ship into space! In her condition?

Chekov _hoped_ that he wasn't dy-

Chekov swallowed back another gulp of blood, coughing as he did so.

"I'm scared," he found Kirk's words, fumbling out just as quietly from his own mouth.

"Authorization code not recognized."

Uhura was beside him, whispering, _"There's nothing like it."_

He was alone.

She stroked at his hand, comforting him while Scotty laughed in the background, "_You'll hafta try 'arder!"_

His chest rose and fell, the strain of his diaphragm with every breath becoming more and more unbearable…

It was painful. He wished Bones was here—he'd have had some drug or pill or medicine that he could give Chekov, to ease his passing. Hell, if Bones was here, he could probably save Chekov…

He wished anyone was here. He didn't want to die alone.

"I'm scared…" He whispered, trying to focus his eyes on the image of a comforting Uhura at his side, or of the blinking screen before him. Everything seemed to fade.

"Authorization code not recognized."

* * *

"When I told ye you'd hafta try 'arder to break mah ship," Scotty muttered, "It wasn't an open invitation to actually try!"

Chekov smiled, his left eye still unable to open as he tried to sit up straighter. The pain in his side warned him not to bother, and he carefully sank back into his original position.

Scotty looked over the boys wounds; Chekov's attempted adjustment had not gone unnoticed.

"Ye alright, lad?" He asked, honestly and quietly.

Chekov's smile broadened.

"Damaged, zir. Not broken."

* * *

"Your application to Captain Terrel was never officially filed. The position of the Reliant's Chief Navigator has been filled."

Chekov slowly opened his one good eye, fixating it on his former captain, who loomed in the doorway.

"The state you're in, actually, leaves you ineligible for active duty until further notice."

"Notice, sir?"

"Until your overseeing physician grants you clearance."

"Ah…"

"…Your overseeing physician is Bones, Ensign."

"Ah!" Chekov realized, disappointment filling him. It'd be years before McCoy released him for active duty.

"I know what you're thinking. But, McCoy assures me you'll be cleared within a year, after some physical therapy and evals." Kirk smirked to himself, "Which is a bit convenient. See, my own ship, the USS Enterprise—I don't know if you've heard of it before or not—is currently short a Chief Navigator. She'll be under repairs for…well, about the same time as you. I came by to see if…well, if you'd consider applying for the position."

Chekov didn't respond immediately, and for a moment Kirk actually suspected the kid would decline his offer.

"Sir, I…"

"You came highly recommended," Kirk added, winking. "Nearly the entirety of my current crew referred to you."

"I'd be honored to."

Kirk smiled, patting the boy's uninjured shoulder.

"Atta'boy."

Kirk sat beside Chekov, careful not to sink the mattress too much. He didn't quite know where to put his hands, so he settled with clapping them together in his lap. Chekov felt increasingly tired with each passing second.

Chekov glanced around, to which Kirk responded, "I sent the others home."

Chekov nodded. The moment he had awoken (which occured nearly a week after the whole incident; McCoy had teased that for awhile, they'd all assumed he was trying to beat their captain's record of two weeks), he'd been immediately greeted by a tearful Uhura at his side and an eager Sulu. McCoy had had to push the two aside to get at his patient, which allowed Chekov to notice the smaller party that had gathered behind the Lieutenants as well.

His first words had been to ask if the ship was okay; If Daniels had been behind it all, as Chekov had suspected, and if the culprits had been caught.

To this, his former Captain, who now stood before him, had responded that the ship was fine, and that Chekov was expected in court as soon as he was able. Something about testifying…

He hadn't stayed awake long that day, but every day since he awoke to at least one concerned crew member by his side. Scotty had been first. Then Sulu and Spock, a curious combination, followed by Uhura.

Today, to Chekov's surprise, had been the Captain himself.

Finally, Kirk spoke up, admitting softly,

"I…thought I'd really lost you, kid."

"Damaged, sir…not broken."

Kirk smiled, but he didn't understand.

Chekov's eyes rolled back briefly, and he muttered quietly, "Permission to sleep, sir…"

It wasn't a question, but Kirk responded nonetheless,

"Granted, Ensign."

* * *

**A/N: **Again, I'll mention a lot about this fic was probably incorrect and I apologize for that!

Random Facts;

Captain Terrell and USS Reliant is a nod to TOS:WOK.

There's very little Spock in this because I am not smart enough to write a proper Spock. Sulu also isn't featured as prominently in this fic as I'd meant to, for which I'm sorry. I love the friendship between Uhura and Chekov (Which explains why she had probably the greatest influence over Chekov when it came to his moments of dying), and I'm kinda even sorta proud of my writing of Kirk..? Again, sorry for the dialects and how I choose to type out particularly Scotty and Chekov's accents!

I normally hate writing OCs into stories, but in this case it was kind of necessary and as much as I'd prefered to leave them all nameless, for repetitiveness of pronouns-sake, I had to name the OCs... I wish I'd explored the angst more of the death which Chekov was surrounded, from the engineers that died before his eyes to the grey suits he'd been forced to kill. If I ever mean to write a sequel to this story, I'd probably explore that aspect more-again, I'm not fond of OCs so their lack of mention was mostly brought on by that.

Daniels' plan is so terrible and I tried to have Kirk call him out on it, to show you, the reader, that I'm aware it's not thoroughly thought out, but...again...suspencion of disbelief goes a lnog way in this fic... That said, I know next to nothing about the sciences and technologies of Star Trek and it's setting, so I bullshitted my way through nearly everything; again, sorry!

I personally am uneasy about the idea of Chekov being impatient about being on Earth without work-But, for the sake of this story, I really wanted that added element of angst of Chekov resigning from the Enterprise; I tried to justify the decision and play it off that Chekov maybe didn't neccessarily mean to leave the Enterprise, and that the decision was happening all too quickly, but I apologize if you also found that concept to be OOC.

I'd meant to break this story up, make multi-chapter fic of it; but, in all honesty, I couldn't think of clever-enoguh tie-in chapter titles, or an appropriate number of how many chapters. Also, I'm a fan of long-ass oneshots; I know, however, how inconvenient they can sometimes be to a ready, and several times are a turn-off; So, I apologize for that...

The ending seemed kind of rushed and abrupt, but I couldn't add anything else to it without dragging it on... I'd had the last two scenes typed up since roughly the same time I'd had the beginning scenes typed, which was after I'd just seen ST:ID-I'd been typing and revising the middle for the past month or two...Having said that, while writing the middle and approaching the already-written ending scenes, I'd almsot considered killing Chekov off in the end, b/c I love whumpage and angst but I wanted this story to be able to tie in with the ending of ST:ID and I also was too found with all the tie-in lines from the end to match the beginning...

I feel I should mention again that I'm sorry for any misinterpretation of any of the characters, as well as the inaccuracies of the fic itself. I took lot of liberties with this fic, and I'm sorry if they bothered you,t he reader, too much to enjoy.

There's probably sO much more I meant to talk about or apologize for, but I'll stop now before I make this A/N twice as lnog as the story itself!

That said, I hope you found at least some parts of this fic enjoyable, if you managed to sit through all of it, and I thank you for having read through not only all of it, but pressumably my author's note if you have! Again, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed!


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